Ankyra
by aeternium
Summary: Two slaves. Two Jedi. A freedom fighter. A former queen. When the third in a series of planets is threatened, an unlikely group bands together to fight back and uncover a greater, more sinister plot at work. Very AU.
1. Prologue: A Correspondence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Wars. You guys probably don't need to be reminded that, but our familiar GFFA is about to look very different, so I felt I should clarify: I'm just playing in George's sandbox.

**Notes:** This has been in the works for a very, very long time. A very long time. In fact, when it was first conceptualized, it was an AU centering on Luke and Leia and a Skywalker family that had never left Tatooine. Needless to say, that's not what I ended up with. _Ankyra_ may or may not end up as just the first of a series of multi-chapter fics. I'll shut up now and let you read.

* * *

**Prologue: A Correspondence**

_Coruscant, 20 BBY:_

From the offices of the Galactic Embassy:

First off, allow me to thank you profusely for your kindly-worded letter. We here at GE are always thrilled to hear that our work is admired, in hopes that it will inspire others to join us in the struggle against galactic corruption. I, personally, was flattered by your knowledge of my part in the founding of the Embassy, and my work in the Outer Rim.

However, I must be frank with you. The arrival of your letter caused quite a stir in the higher offices, a stir which had nothing to do with flattery.

You must be curious as to why you are receiving a reply from me, when it was our chief executive you wrote to. The reason is simple. Before I address the focus of your letter, I feel an obligation to share with you a very personal story, although more than anything it's an explanation for our ultimate response to you and the part I personally play in it.

Allow me to catch up with myself.

If there's a bright center of the universe, Tatooine is without doubt the planet it's farthest from. This wasn't the planet I was born on, but it's the one that had the biggest hand in raising me. And as anyone that's familiar with the planet will tell you, a Tatooine childhood is no childhood at all.

I arrived at the age of five, courtesy of pirates. My father was killed in the raid on our ship headed for Asalecea as I would learn years after the fact, but the prison onboard the pirate vessel was vast and at the time I naïvely assumed that we had merely been separated. It was a wishful notion I held onto for years. Through eight masters, four cities, and thirteen years spent in the desert, I was always on the lookout for him. Even after I resigned myself to the fact that he was long gone, probably sold off-planet, I never considered that he could have died that day, so long ago. Not until my estranged sister told me years later that his body had been shipped back to them in pieces.

It was a warning, impersonal. A warning to the Republic not to stick their nose in where they weren't wanted.

Asalecea was a Mid-Rim planet, too small and unimportant for anyone to notice it had been taken over by pirates until twenty years after the reign of terror had begun. The Asaleceans were tired of handing over their crops at blasterpoint, of the horrific crime rates in their cities. They had long-since given up dreams of taking back their home. They wanted out.

It was a simple mission. We weren't even landing on Asalecea, but at the rendez-vous point on one of its moons to distribute clothing, food, and all sorts of donations made by the people of our planet. As a neighbor of Asalecea, you can be sure they were all suitably embarrassed by their obliviousness to the pirate situation, and doing their very best to make amends.

My father paid the price, and I continued to pay it for the next thirteen years.

So you can understand, Chairman Ohnaka, my hesitation at your request. While a professional relationship with the Haroko System of Free Planets (which I am to understand has now grown to include both Chommell Minor and Marukesh in addition to Asalecea) seems prudent on many levels, I can't help but cringe at the thought of having anything to do with your alliance. I have spoken to our chief executive on the matter, and found her in agreement with me. Some will protest that a personal vendetta has now created that many more obstacles for our organization, but understand that we Ambassadors have always found ways around such barriers.

I wish you a fine day, and may the Force be with you.

P.A. Skywalker

Department Chief

Sentient Rights Division


	2. Dreams Across a Galaxy

**Chapter One: Dreams Across a Galaxy**

_Mos Espa, nine years earlier:_

There was a knock on the door, but the voice that followed was most definitely inside the hovel already.

"Ani, are you home?"

"Padmé?"

"Yeah, Ani, where – Anakin, are you on the roof again?"

The boy in question rolled over on his stomach so that his body was pressed to the very edge of the low roof, his head peering in through the window at his guest, a small girl of eighteen.

"You called?" he asked, grinning.

The girl – Padmé – shook her head in that long-suffering way that mothers do when they've just witnessed their child perform an antic that pales in comparison to what they're capable of. It wasn't far off from the truth.

"Stargazing again?" she asked.

"Of course. You?"

"Avoiding."

"What?"

"Gods, everyone. Alar's throwing up again, Chels is in a mood, Baia-Sol keeps trying to teach me how to knit, there's babies everywhere, and basically I need a place to crash for the night." Padmé said frankly, rubbing her eye with the base of her palm.

A seemingly impossible feat, Anakin's grin grew even wider.

"You know you're always welcome here," he said, reaching out a hand through the window. She smiled in gratitude and accepted what he offered, allowing him to pull her up and out as she climbed onto the roof herself, suddenly level with the sea of Mos Espa's adobe skyline. Padmé smoothed out her long skirt and lay back, staring up at the wide expanse of stars.

Anakin stared at her for a moment, still smiling, before joining her.

They lay in silence for a time, gazing onwards, always onwards.

"I always wonder how much is really out there," she said finally.

"I'm going to find out someday," was the reply. "_We're_ going to find out."

"Where will we go first?" she asked, smiling. Padmé loved this game, the game where she and her best friend were galactic explorers, treading new waters and exploring new worlds, not bound to any one place by the constant threat of a microchip floating somewhere in their bloodstream.

He smiled.

"Malastare, to the greatest racing circuit in the galaxy," Anakin laughed, speaking as though from his own memory instead of that of some grizzled old spacer. "We'll drink jawa beer and make a fortune gambling on the races."

"We won't have anything to gamble with," Padmé pointed out.

He considered this. "Then Malastare's our second stop. The spice mines of Kessel first, where we'll shut down operations and liberate the workers, and their families will be so pleased that pretty soon we'll be loaded."

Never the simple route with Anakin, oh no.

"And then we'll just gamble it all away."

"No, see, _you'll_ be the one gambling and you'll win. Because you'll be betting on me, of course."

"Of course," Padmé laughed her agreement. "Ani, what the kriff are we going to do with that much money?"

His smile faded, though not entirely, and Anakin turned towards her. "Go to Naboo," he said simply. "Find your family. We'll need the money to track them down, which won't be easy. You don't even know their last name."

"Not everyone has a last name," Padmé said quietly, because this was a new twist in the game.

"I think they do on Naboo," he said, matching her volume.

"And after we've found them?"

Anakin didn't answer. He simply stared onwards and upwards at the sky, at the future he'd spread out for himself, the one that would never be more than a fantastic dream. Padmé opened her mouth, then closed it again. She settled back to match his position again, and they stayed there for an hour in silence, though it could have only been a moment or two.

"Can I ask you something weird?"

"Depends. Is it going to make me uncomfortable?" she asked.

"No. Yes. Maybe. Not like that."

"Okay, shoot."

"Do you remember their names?"

Padmé frowned. It had been thirteen years since she'd been brought to Tatooine, her first vivid memories being of that fateful day. Blasters and screams and her father's arms and that one pirate with the scar just below his eye who had haunted her nightmares for years thereafter.

Was there anything before that for her?

There had to have been, because she remembered her father's arms. Padmé held onto that and closed her eyes, probing backwards. Her father's arms… his warmth… a face?

Finally she opened her eyes, smiling faintly.

"My father's name was Ru, I think," she said. "I remember a house, and a lake. Nice house. And I think I had a sister. I don't… maybe… no, I don't remember my mother." She fell quiet for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

It was Anakin's turn to struggle. He closed his eyes, bit his lower lip as he sometimes did when he had to decide between two equally tempting speeder parts.

"I don't want to forget her," he said at long last, staring fixedly upwards into the abyss. "She's already starting to fade, and I don't – I _can't_ forget her."

Padmé sighed and pulled Anakin close because it was only times like these that it struck her how young he really was. Though at this age they were all bravado, the truth was that fourteen year-old boys needed their mothers, and she was a poor substitute. In fact, from the way he looked at her at times, she knew she was no substitute at all.

"What's her name?" she asked gently.

Anakin frowned.

"You knew her, you know what her – "

"Just humor me, Ani. Tell me what her name is."

"Shmi," he said quietly.

"What color are her eyes?"

"Brown."

"And her hair, what color is her hair?"

"Black. Dark brown. It looks rough but it's actually really soft. And smooth. And she always pulls it back during the day and lets it out only right before going to bed," he smiled, and Padmé suddenly remembered Shmi laughing about Anakin's fascination with her hair as a baby, always pulling on it or trying to stick it in his mouth.

She, too, missed the kind woman who had welcomed her to Mos Espa four years earlier.

"See?" Padmé asked quietly, stroking the boy's own hair. "See, you haven't forgotten her at all."

"Padmé?"

"Mm?"

"Do you remember the day we met? With the sandstorm and everything."

"Mhm."

"I meant what I said that day, you know."

Padmé frowned. Apparently she didn't have quite as good a memory as she'd thought. "What, the part about angels?"

Anakin cringed. It had seemed like the thing to say at the time. "The part where I said I was going to marry you."

"You're five years younger than me, Ani," she pointed out.

"No, only four."

"Five."

"Four."

"Five."

"Four."

"Fi –whatever, it's a big difference either way."

"It won't seem so big when we're in our seventies," he countered.

Padmé laughed, rolling over on her stomach to face him. "Okay then," she said, "I promise you if neither of us are married by the time you're seventy and I'm seventy-four, we'll do it. We'll get married to each other."

"No, that's too long," he protested. "Twenty. If neither of us are married by the time I'm twenty and you're twenty-four, we'll get married to each other. Promise me that."

"Ani…"

"I promise you, Padmé," he said solemnly, and suddenly the innocent crush she had tolerated for years didn't seem quite so innocent anymore.

The ridiculousness of the situation was overwhelming. This was Anakin, her best friend, who was _fourteen_, who was as good as proposing to her. Marriage on Tatooine didn't even work that way to begin with. Slaves weren't allowed. Oh, children were encouraged, it saved the masters money, but marriage was something altogether different, a luxury afforded only to those with the rights to their own lives. Neither of them had that. And besides, the chances that they would even still be together in six years time were slim to none. Yet somehow all this suddenly didn't seem to matter.

"I promise."


	3. The Lunch Date

**Chapter Two: The Lunch Date**

Although it wasn't yet light out when Padmé woke up the next morning, Anakin was already gone, the little bed that had once belonged to Shmi Skywalker neatly made.

_Watto's having me scrub down the place before some bigshot comes in for thrusters_, explained the scratchy recording he'd left on the table when she clicked it to life. _Probably not gonna make it for lunch._ She was glad he'd thought enough not to leave a note. Their lessons hadn't come far enough for that.

Smiling faintly at his hospitality, Padmé picked up the breakfast he had left her and munched idly on a lamta leaf as she wandered outdoors.

Dawn was breaking, pale cracks of light streaking the dark northwest sky where Tattoo I would soon emerge. A herd of banthas were on the move far out in the distance. The old homeless woman who huddled against the western wall every night slept soundly on. A baby cried out somewhere nearby. Three doors down, one Rachel Blackshore emerged onto the ledge and threw the night's waste over and down.

"So that's where you disappeared to," she said, casually slinging the buckets over both shoulders and sauntering over to meet Padmé. "I'm shocked."

"Don't start, Chels, you were being horrible."

"And here I thought you were trying to escape Baia's attempts to turn you into a woman."

"That, too," she admitted. "Is Alar feeling any better?"

Chels raised an eyebrow and said, "Well if by 'feeling any better' you mean 'pregnant,' then yes, she's feeling swell."

"No!"

"Mhm."

"Again."

"Yep. More Twi'brats. Because we really have the room."

"It's better than the alternative," Padmé grimly reminded her, because Alar really _was_ going to be a mess when the inevitable separation came. "Does Derjik know yet?"

Chels shook her head, leaned against the wall.

"No," she said. "I'll tell him today. She's still a disgusting mess so I'm pulling double for her."

There was a moment of calm then, a tiny moment where, as Chels looked out across the vast stretch of sand, as the sky grew lighter by the moment, Padmé looked at the taller, darker, older girl and realized that, for all her bravado and tough exterior, Chels really was one of the most decent people she knew.

Which was, in truth, quite a shocking realization.

* * *

Derjik made a little throaty noise when Chels broke the news of Alar's condition to him, which could have meant any manner of things, and likely meant them all.

On the one hand, pregnancy was one of the simplest and actually _the_ cheapest way to acquire new slaves. They came free of charge, and the only downside was that one had to wait at least five years or so before putting them to any sort of real work.

And Derjik can't have been entirely surprised, Padmé reasoned. He had provided the fathers.

The rub was simple. Derjik's tavern turned more than a decent profit, luring in regulars and those just passing through with its all-female task force, but the Hapan was uncompromisingly stingy. There was no possible way he would shell out the money needed to purchase another compound of Slave Quarters Row, and the simple truth was that, with Padmé, Baia-Sol, Chels, Danya, Kee, Alar, and her merry brood of children, there was no room left for even the smallest of babies.

Change was in the air. It was inevitable at this point, and that was a frightening prospect.

Chels was a powerhouse, there was no denying that, but not even she could be two people at once. By the time they closed at noon for _hunka be_, Padmé was so exhausted that she nearly forgot what she'd resolved to do upon hearing the recorded message that morning.

"Have you got anything extra?" she asked quietly, back in the kitchen.

Kee glanced out to the main room and, once confident that Derjik had already left, nodded to Baia. "Be quick," the old woman said.

It was an unnecessary warning.

Knowing Derjik's knack for inventory, Padmé bundled no more than two ahrisa balls and a string of podpoppers in her satchel before taking off down the dusty road.

The tavern was meant to attract spacers, resulting in its close proximity to the docking bays, but she knew well the winding route through Mos Espa's streets to the merchant district.

Preferring to avoid the unpleasant Toydarian if she could, Padmé skirted around to the back of the shop and hopped the fence into the junkyard.

Anakin smiled when she stood up, brushing herself off.

"I didn't know you were coming to see me."

Cross-legged against the wall, he was covered in soot, a metal heatshield balancing precariously on his head, both explained by the mechanical part and welding flame held in either hand. For the briefest of moments, Anakin was nine years old again, just as she had met him, a scruffy little boy in a junkyard. His hair was longer now, shaggier but just as bleached. And his legs and arms and torso and _everything_ was longer, too, suddenly a teenage boy on the verge of manhood before her eyes.

_When_ did that happen?

"Lunch," she said smiling, tossing the little bundle towards him, and that's when it happened.

The welding flame hit the ground with a decisive _thump_, and the bundle stopped in midair. Wide-eyed, Padmé silently followed its trajectory to Anakin's outstretched hand. Eyebrows furrowed, he concentrated, eyes never leaving the bundle, as it slowly continued its path and finally met with his palm. He closed his long fingers around the prize.

The third time that month.

"Has Watto noticed any – "

"No," he cut her off brusquely.

But Padmé wasn't letting him off that easily. "Anakin," she said, the tension rising in her voice, "this isn't a game. You have to be more careful. If he sees you – "

"He didn't see me."

"But if he _did_."

"I try not to live my life through 'ifs.'"

"You're impossible. You need control."

"I _can't_," he said, not angry, just utterly exasperated. "I can't even explain why, it's just a part of who I am. It feels so natural. I can't help that I'm… different."

There it was, the reason that Padmé worried for her friend as much as she did. Anakin was many things that set him apart from the daily milieu – racing prodigy, fiercely loyal companion, mathematical genius, one of the few literate people she knew… but then there were those things, those unexplainable things like what had just happened. Those things – those _powers_ made him different, and nothing could be more dangerous for a slave than being different.

Anakin set down his lunch in the sand, pulled off the heatshield and left it there, too. He took Padmé's hands in his and suddenly she was very aware that, sometime while she hadn't been paying attention, he'd actually grown taller than her.

"Look," he said, suddenly serious for both their sakes, "I've dealt with this all my life. I've hid it from everyone. I don't know why it's so much harder now, flaring up all the time, but I can handle it. You don't need to worry about me."

"More promises?"

"No. Guarantees."


	4. Escape From Marukesh

**Chapter Three: Escape From Marukesh  
**

"We should abandon the mission, Master," the young man said quietly. "Ask for reinforcements. They're not going to talk to us."

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his temple delicately. "I believe you're right, Obi-Wan. There's little more to do here. We should leave quickly."

"What about our contact?"

"What about her?"

"We'll need someone to testify."

What he said was true. While the official objective of the mission had been a failure, Qui-Gon had always known that words alone wouldn't be enough to convince the Haroko Clan to leave Marukesh. Upon arrival he had spoken freely to Obi-Wan, who had rolled his eyes and sighed, a throw-back to their years as master and apprentice, but couldn't argue the point.

Negotiations wouldn't work, they had learned that difficult lesson five years before, and so they would have to serve as a diversion while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan quietly collected evidence.

"You're right," he said, rising to his feet. "But be quick. We don't want them to notice we've left until we can make the jump into hyperspace."

"How quick is quick?"

"It means try to knock out as few Haroko as possible."

"If you insist."

The two men bowed before setting off down the hallway in opposite directions.

* * *

Besali wouldn't budge.

"How can you even ask me this?"

"We're asking you to – "

"To leave my people? Now of all times?"

"To plead your case to the Galactic Senate. That's the best thing you can do for Marukesh right now."

Visibly upset, Besali shook her head again.

"The best thing I can do for my home," she said, "is to stay. You have to understand, Master Kenobi, what hope will they have if their resistance leader _abandons_ them?"

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand over his newly-bearded chin. This was an unexpected obstacle. He'd have thought she would jump at the chance to gain her plight recognition from higher powers. Without Besali, the closest thing the planet had to a leader at the moment, Marukesh was all but lost to the Haroko. She had to understand that.

Luckily for him, he wasn't the only one to see reason.

Eylon placed a comforting hand on the older woman's shoulder.

"Besali," she said firmly, but not ungently, "you must go. I've just had word from Eltiz that the missing cells in Telush aren't being held in any of the prisons onworld, which can only mean one thing. The underground is all but defunct, and then the massacre at Cabarraz…"

Her voice caught and she looked down for a moment to compose herself.

"You must go," she repeated. "My opportunity passed me by, and look what's become of my poor planet." (and here she nearly met Obi-Wan's eyes, looking away at the last moment) "Take this chance. No one can fault you for it."

The message was clear: "I failed my duty. Learn from my mistakes."

Obi-Wan felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude towards the young woman before him, so much older than when last they met. Eylon carried the heaviness of burdens that a newly-elected Queen Mariposa never would have dreamed of.

And at long last, without so much as a word, Besali rose and nodded at Obi-Wan. It was time to leave

* * *

"_Dreish an besali!_"

It was a cry of hope that gave them away.

Without a second thought, Eylon threw herself on top of Besali just as the blaster fire started. It was a bizarre callback to her days in the Elementary, back when her career could have gone either way.

The two Jedi were everywhere at once, deflecting blasts left, right, and forwards with their lightsabers and Besali was shouting that she could handle herself and Eylon didn't even know why she'd done what she had but then she was pulling the Maruk leader towards the safety of the Republic ship and then came a searing pain in her left thigh and the last thing she knew before she blacked out was Besali's scream as she sank to the ground.

* * *

When Eylon came to, she was halfway submerged in bacta, but most definitely on a moving ship.

"What happened?" she asked groggily, not exactly sure who was there to answer.

"You were shot."

The voice was clipped and throaty, obviously discomforted by the flat words of Basic.

"Obviously," she said, grinning at the now in-focus Besali. "Was your hair always that blue?"

"As far as I know."

A satisfying answer. Now for the important things.

"So am I going to live?" she asked nonchalantly.

Besali nodded. "According to Master Jinn, yes," she said. "Fortunately it didn't catch anything too important, but you're going to be achy for a while."

"I've had worse."

"Have you?"

"Cabarraz."

"Right."

Eylon bit her lip and drew in a deep breath. The nightmares of Cabarraz had stopped weeks ago, and now there was a strange hollow sensation that developed in her gut whenever it was mentioned. It was too painful, even now.

She lifted her eyes back to her friend and put on a smile. It didn't fool her a bit.

"So we got off alright, from the looks of things," she said, maybe a bit too cheerily.

Besali nodded, twisting her mouth a bit.

"Yes, we're all fine," she agreed, frowning. "No one lost, or too badly hurt. No pirate ships coming after us."

"That doesn't look like a happy frown, though."

"We lost the hyperdrive," she said dully.

"Oh."

Oh, indeed. That was bad news. Very, very bad news. The trip to Coruscant was virtually impossible without a hyperdrive, and more or less every planet in the Chommell Sector had Haroko presence by this point. There would be a warrant out for their party on each and every one by now.

Eylon frowned.

"Plan of action?" she asked hopefully.

Besali sighed and smiled ruefully.

"Tatooine."

"_Tatooine?_" Eylon spluttered.

Amused, Besali nodded. "It's the safest place at this point, strangely enough. The Haroko probably have friends there, but they aren't in control. They have no authority over the Hutts. Not yet, anyway," she added darkly. "Tatooine's our best bet for making repairs."

Eylon lay back, trying to ignore the peculiar sensation of her bacta-enclosed legs.

"I suppose the Jedi know what they're doing," she said.

"I have a feeling this isn't just about Marukesh," replied Besali, staring out the window at the passing stars. "They had _better_ know what they're doing."


	5. Under Fire

**Chapter Four: Under Fire  
**

"Oh, hell no," shouted Danya, slamming her hand on the table. "I'm putting Padmé under protest."

Padmé arranged her face in a show of wounded pride.

"Me?" she asked innocently, sticking out her lower lip. "Danya, I'm hurt."

"You're a cheat, that's what you are. Show me the goods, love."

"You're not seeing a single card until I know why I'm under protest."

"Last round you were owed two cards, you took three."

"Invalid," countered Chels, taking a swig of ale. "You have to call her out before the round's over." She smacked her lips together. Contraband spirits, as they had discovered, were the best kind. Which was a helpful thing, as it was the _only_ kind they ever got their hands on.

"Even if it's giving her an edge now?" Danya raised her eyebrows.

"_Especially_ then," Padmé laughed.

"Thief."

"Takes one to know one."

The little table erupted in laughter and ale-induced gagging, because things were funniest when true. It was thanks to Danya that they had cards again, that they had liquor for the first time in almost eight months. Not that it was even a terribly funny remark in the first place, but the mood inside their little apartment was so airy and light that it was impossible not to be taken in by it.

Alar was still choking on her lonely bantha milk when a little green angel appeared by her elbow.

"Mommy, I need crayons."

"Go ask Kit if he has one, baby," said Alar, pushing her daughter affectionately back outside. "Thank him again for me, will you?" she asked, turning to Danya. "He's a good kid."

Danya set her cards down, acknowledging that Padmé wouldn't be getting her penalty. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Still," said Chels, "taking the Twi'pack for a night? Give the kid a beer when he gets back."

Danya sat up at that. "I am _not_ giving my thirteen year-old brother a _beer_, Chels."

"Kit's old enough to take care of five kids for the night, I'd say he's old enough to handle some liquor," she shrugged.

"I don't think that kind of reasoning works until they're _his_ kids," Padmé put in.

"Who says they're not his kids?" Kee giggled. Both Danya and Alar looked at one another for a moment before pushing her off her stool.

That was when the screaming started.

* * *

Padmé hadn't moved for twenty minutes. She couldn't, not with the screams and the blood and the sobs and Manoo's terrified face still fresh in her mind. Kit had thought it was a random abduction, that all the children were being threatened. She had helped Anakin and Danya carry him back to the compound he shared with old Keir. Danya couldn't be moved from his side.

And Alar.

_Fuck_, Alar.

The scuffle and screams had woken up Baia-Sol, and together with Chels and Kee she had picked Alar up from the sand and led her back into the hovel. Her sobs subsiding, she would do nothing now but gaze ahead, seeming to see nothing.

Kee had gone with Anakin and Padmé to search out the scattered children, who, now safely returned home, were huddled tightly around their unseeing mother.

Padmé couldn't stay there.

"I think Kit's going to be fine," said Anakin, sliding into a sitting position next to her, leaning against the sloped wall above his bed. "He'll get a few days off to recover."

"And what about Alar?"

What, indeed?

Anakin sighed. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Isn't that your arena?"

"No. Maybe. I think being on the other end is something different."

"Your mom – "

"Was gone," he said bitterly. "How am I supposed to know how she felt?"

Padmé frowned, her eyebrows furrowed. She shouldn't have expected him to have all the answers. Yet he, who was four years younger and had more hope than anyone else she knew, was always the one she looked to. It wasn't fair, but it was what she needed.

"But you?" she asked. "You were left behind. Like Alar. And you recovered."

"Eventually," he conceded. "But that was different. I had support."

_I had you._

"So does she. She has all of us, and the rest of her kids, and the one on the way – "

"Wait, what?"

Just the idea of it was horrible. Padmé bit her lower lip and banged her head softly against the sloped wall, ignoring the small jolt of pain at the base of her neck. It was too much, too unfair. But since when had a little thing like that ever mattered?

She twisted her mouth, thoroughly agitated, and said, "She's pregnant again. "

Anakin's mouth formed an 'O.'

"So that's why – "

"No more room. Someone had to go."

"Bastard."

"Yes."

A moment passed, and Alar settled between them, huddled in the sand. Manoo's terrified face, his tiny voice screaming for his mother as he was thrown over a man's shoulder like a sack of grain. Kit beaten and bloody on the ground. Shmi being loaded onto the transport. Twelve-year-old Anakin trying to keep it all back. Alar in the sand again.

It was the natural state of things, here on this forsaken rock.

"She should have known, though," Padmé found herself saying.

Anakin looked up.

"What?"

"It's her own fault," she continued, her voice so much harsher than what she normally recognized as her own, but now that it was out there, she couldn't stop. "They were always going to leave her. They weren't hers from the beginning, and she loved them like they were. She got too attached."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" asked Anakin, suddenly alarmed.

"It's her own fault," she repeated, not sure where the spite in her voice was born from. "Love means nothing here."

Anakin looked away from her, as if suddenly unsure of who he was actually talking to. She, too, looked away. Padmé wanted to feel shame for what she had said, but in the heat of her anger she just couldn't do it. Somehow she had been blessed during the course of the last two years, and as a result gotten far too comfortable. And in the course of not even half an hour, too much had happened to bring her reality crashing back down on her.

And then he looked back at her, smiling faintly. He took her chin between his fingers and brought it upwards, forcing her to look at him.

"Sometimes I think love is the only thing that keeps us all going, Mé," he said simply.

On top of the night's turn of events, that was too much for her. Padmé regarded him for no more than a moment before burying her face in his shoulder. Anakin's arm found its way around her and he pulled her in close, gently tucking pieces of flyaway hair behind her ear. Slowly he began rocking her back and forth, whispering in her ear sentences she didn't understand, interspersed every so often with, "It'll be alright. I promise, everything will be fine."

And for that brief moment in time, Padmé was tempted to believe him.


	6. Tatooine

**Chapter Five: Tatooine  
**

When Besali came to, it took her a moment to realize why the air around her felt so still. The engines were off, meaning that they must have landed sometime during the night. Slowly she took in the small cabin around her, and realized that Eylon wasn't there. Unsurprising. Even if the bacta hadn't finished its job, it was nearly impossible to slow that girl down for very long.

The question was, why hadn't she been woken up, too? She was Eylon's superior, for all intents and purposes. There was no logical reason she shouldn't be included in exchanges with Masters Jinn and Kenobi.

Something felt wrong here.

Pushing herself out of the bunk, Besali pulled on her coat and began to wind her long hair above her head. Already she felt the day was going to be far too long.

As it happened, her fears were unfounded.

"Toast?" Eylon asked as she entered the main cabin, offering a plate of something they definitely didn't grow on Marukesh.

Besali grimaced at the sight. "Er, no," she declined, sitting down next to her, then added for grace, "thank you." Eylon shrugged, as though to say, "Suit yourself," and piled two more pieces of whatever the kriff it was onto her plate.

"So," she said, turning to the elder of the Jedi, who had finished his own breakfast and was now consulting a datapad, "where exactly have we landed?"

"Tatooine," he replied, "just outside the small city of Mos Espa."

"And we can fix the hyperdrive here?"

"It's likely."

"Likely?"

Master Kenobi set down his beaker and said, "Yes, likely. I've been to this planet before, a small mining settlement called Bestine. They had the parts I needed, but they wouldn't accept Republic credits. I had to resort to… alternative methods of persuasion."

Master Jinn choked slightly on his drink, though he emerged with a fond smirk.

"Not a problem," replied Besali, ignoring him. "I have twelve thousand Chamorezis, the exchange rate is in favor of Arkais. They'd be fools to turn you away."

"You ought to come with me, then," he said. "To handle the money, that is."

"To haggle."

"If necessary."

Besali nodded, but Eylon frowned.

"Don't you think that's a bit rash?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The bounty on your head is enormous." She might as well have said, "Well, duh," from the tone of her voice. "This place is going to be packed with people who'd love to get their hands on that kind of money."

"I'll be careful."

"You don't exactly blend into the crowd," Eylon pointed out.

Besali huffed. "Well, do you have a better plan?"

* * *

"I feel ridiculous."

"Cheer up," said Obi-Wan, leaning back in his chair, his legs propped up on the seat between them. "Covering your head seems to be something of a fashion in this place." He jerked his thumb towards the bar, where a group of Bith wearing helmets were deep in conversation with someone whose head appeared to be wrapped in bandages.

Besali tugged at the shawl that covered her hair.

"It's like a furnace in here," she muttered, sounding much younger than the thirty-something he assumed her to be. "I wish they'd stop taking so long."

Obi-Wan chuckled and took another sip of his Chadian's.

* * *

"Twenty thousand," Eylon whispered, passing the chip over to Master Jinn. Once they had rounded the corner, out of sight and earshot, she added a little more loudly, "I think he swindled me a couple hundred, but I didn't want to make a scene."

He tucked the credit chip into a pocket underneath his poncho, then nodded.

"As long as Besali doesn't mind."

"She won't. She has more on her mind than money right now."

"Yes, of course," he said. "She must be very concerned for her planet."

Eylon nodded. "It took some convincing to get her to leave. But to tell you the truth, I think she's more nervous right now about what she'll even say to the Senate. Besali's never been off-planet. She didn't even speak Basic until I showed up."

"Will you help her put together a convincing case?" he asked.

"Certainly."

Oh, certainly she would. For five years she had lived in regret, going over and over in her mind what exactly she would have said to the Senate if she had taken that chance. How she would have forced them to see the truth, if only she hadn't been so stubborn, so noble… so scared.

She looked at the ground as they walked, considered the sameness of the sand, shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her rough trousers.

"May I ask you a question?"

Eylon looked up.

"A question?"

Master Jinn nodded, not quite apprehensive, perhaps just not as serene as he usually appeared to her. Eyebrows raised, she nodded. Certainly.

"Did we do the right thing?"

He needn't clarify, there was only one thing he could mean by that. Eylon sighed. If she couldn't confide in him, who could she? _There's always Besali_, whispered a small voice in the back of her head, but she pushed it away. She still wasn't ready to deal with that yet.

"I wondered the same thing for a long time afterwards," she admitted. "I blamed you sometimes, even, though mostly just myself for being so weak. I could have gone back to Naboo, started a resistance there, but it just seemed so far gone already. And the Republic didn't – _doesn't_ – seem to care. Five years later and they still haven't done anything about the Trade Federation's presence."

Master Jinn nodded. He had always been a good listener to her.

She twisted her mouth, nearly regretting what would come next. "But yes," she said quietly, kicking up sand as they turned down yet another winding street, "I think you did the right thing by leaving me on Marukesh. In retrospect, there's no way we could have gotten past the blockade, and who knows, we could have all been killed. At least this way I was helpful for a time. Besali and I actually made a small difference at the beginning, when it still seemed like the Haroko were planning to leave."

"From what I hear," he said evenly, putting a hand on her shoulder, "you made more than a small difference. Rumor has it you actually talked Madine Ohnaka off the planet for a short while.

Eylon laughed. "And who did you hear that from?"

"A Jedi has his sources."

"Reliable ones, I'll admit. Ohnaka's a nasty piece of work but I do believe she might be a tiny bit afraid of me."

"Oh?"

"Ach, I didn't think I'd be telling this story today," she said, her voice lightening. But Eylon never did get around to telling him because all that came out of her mouth as they turned another corner was a small scream.


	7. Seeing Double

**Chapter Six: Seeing Double  
**

Padmé screamed, then fell back laughing. But that would only startle the other girl even more, so she clapped a hand to her mouth for a moment before realizing she, too, was trying not to snort through her fist. Instantly Padmé relaxed.

"Oh my…"

"Gods, I am _so_ sorry – "

"No, really, I should pay more attention to where I'm – "

"It's just you – "

"We – "

"Are we related or something?" the girl laughed.

She pursed her lips together in apology. "I doubt it."

_I doubt there'd be any way to know for sure_.

The other girl still smiled, looking briefly at the older man by her side, who Padmé hadn't spotted until that moment. He was powerfully-built for his age, with hair that fell just short of his elbows and a nose that may have been broken at one point. But her focus was still on the small girl – young woman, really – because the moment they had rounded the corner Padmé had thought for a split-second she was seeing double. Of _herself_.

And judging by the girl's reaction, she clearly wasn't imagining things.

Unfortunately, she was supposed to be running a delivery at the moment, and was late as it was.

"I'm really sorry, I have – " she started to say, but was cut off before she could manage anything else.

"Over there!" someone shouted, "It's the one on the poster!" The long-haired man threw himself in front of her before she really had time to process that they were being blasted at. No, _she_ was being blasted at. He was deflecting them with some sort of sword – a lightsaber? Impossible, something Anakin would dream up. But then the girl was pulling Padmé down an alley and they were running, the tall man bringing up the rear.

Up the street, around the corner, across a small boulevard, down a narrow flight of steps into another alleyway, and so it went with the two girls kicking up sand as the man took care of the occasional blast whenever their assailants turned a corner fast enough to catch sight of them.

Padmé hadn't the frame of mind to wonder how she'd possibly gotten herself into this situation. All she knew was that there was a door ahead, a door she knew, and she led the way as they flew indoors. They hadn't been seen, she didn't think, but the man listened at the door for several moments before nodding, satisfied.

"We should be safe for the time being," he said, his voice thickly accented in deep Core dialect. At this point, she was hardly fazed. "What is this place?"

"Looks like a storehouse," said the girl.

"What's going on?" Padmé demanded, trembling. "Why were they shooting at me?"

Because it _had_ been her they were after, though it hardly made sense. They had singled her out, shot at her, pursued her.

What could they possibly have wanted?

"They were shooting at _you_," said the girl, pulling her hood down, "because they thought you were _me_. Easy mistake to make from a distance." Then she turned to her companion and said worriedly, "I've been so focused on Besali I didn't even think there'd be a warrant out for me. Well, a new one, anyway."

"But," said Padmé, still not understanding this situation in the least, "why would they be shooting at you? What have you done?"

"Fought the system," she replied grimly, extending her hand. "Sabé Eylon, usually go by the latter."

"Padmé," she replied, tentatively accepting it. "I'm sorry, I still don't understand."

Eylon glanced at the man, who raised his eyebrows. She turned back to Padmé and looked at her frankly for a moment, sizing her up and apparently finding her trustworthy. To a point. "It's… complicated," she replied. "Let's just say the Haroko Clan aren't fond of me. We've had a few run-ins on Marukesh."

"But you're not Maruk."

"No, it's complicated. Like I said." She rubbed her palm against her forehead, agitated. "Mas- Qui-Gon and I were on our way to the Core when they shot out our hyperdrive."

"And you need it fixed?"

"No, we need it replaced," said her companion – Qui-Gon, apparently. "But the situation's become much more complicated now, especially since we've compromised your safety in the process. Do you live far from here?"

"No," Padmé replied, "but I can't go home, I'm supposed to be – _kriff_, I'm supposed to be running an errand right now. Derjik's going to kill me." Maybe not, but he _would_ beat her, of that she was certain.

Qui-Gon frowned. "I advise you to lie low for the time being. Make excuses later to your employer, your safety is what's important at the moment."

"You don't understand, he's not my employer, he's my – " Padmé shook her head. She didn't have the time. "I have to go."

"Alright," he said wearily, "but I advise you to wear your shawl over your head." He motioned to the rough-woven fabric draped around her waist. She nodded and quickly unfastened it, looping it over her hair and around her shoulder.

"Good luck," she said to the odd duo, but she hesitated as she reached the door, turning back for a moment. "What kind of ship do you have?"

"It's Nubian."

Padmé nodded. "Go to Watto's Parts in the merchant district," she advised them. "He'll try to cheat you, but they're one of the only places with Nubian around here. In better condition than most," she said, a note of pride in her voice, because it was the truth, and not by any effort made by Watto.

"Thank you," said Eylon, smiling at her. "Be careful out there."

"Don't worry about me, I know these streets pretty well. _You_ probably need to be more careful than I do."

Eylon pushed her hood back over her head and winked. Padmé smiled, then opened the door a crack. Satisfied that there was no ambush awaiting her, she stepped out into the alleyway.


End file.
